


Problem-Solving

by surlybobbies



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cas is grumpy, Dean is grumpy, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Pretend Cas permanently lost his grace and became human somehow, canon-divergent, everything works out, this is obviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 03:44:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4332573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surlybobbies/pseuds/surlybobbies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas just wants to sleep.  Dean has questions.  By the end of the night, they both get answers.  Season 10 canon-divergent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Problem-Solving

**Author's Note:**

> Just pretend Cas is human and Dean doesn't have the mark anymore. How we got to this point is up to you.

The knock comes _just_ as Dean is slipping off into sleep. He jerks awake at the no-nonsense knocks, opening his eyes blearily and peering at the door. “What.” 

The door opens slowly, revealing a disgruntled-looking Cas in a gray T-shirt and still package-creased pajama pants. “Dean,” he says, with more gravity than necessary. “I can’t sleep.”

The late hour and poor timing makes Dean irritable. “What do you mean you ‘can’t sleep’?” he asks, lifting his head from his pillow to glare at Cas. “This is your second time around as a human; you’re not exactly new at this.”

Cas’s scowl is answer enough, but he punctuates his own irritation with, “I slept rarely and never well as a human my first ‘time around,’ so yes, I _am_ actually still ‘new at this.’” Dean can just hear the air quotes and barely restrains himself from rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, well, insomnia’s a bitch,” Dean snips, pulling the blankets tighter around himself and punching his pillow. “Just you know - lay down and empty your mind or some shit.”

Something in Cas’s expression flickers at Dean’s abrasiveness and suddenly he’s turning away to find the doorknob again, his eyes shifted downwards and closed off. 

And yeah, okay, Dean’s a dick. The carefully blank expression on Cas’s face tells him this, and so does the urgent pull in his chest, a visceral reminder that hey, wait, he doesn’t want Cas to leave - not ever, not now. And Cas has barely been human again for a month; of course he’s going to be frustrated and of course he’s going to need help. The fact that he even asked for help is huge, considering his experience with Dean’s “help” the first time he fell. The “You can’t stay” is almost tangible in the air as Cas opens the door to leave.

...If he allows Cas to leave his bedroom now, Dean’s pretty much just guaranteed that Cas will never come to him for help again. He squeezes his eyes shut for one second before saying, “Wait. Okay. Stop.” He sits up and rubs a hand over his eyes before motioning to the empty side of the bed. “Come here. Lay down.”

Cas squints his eyes. “What?”

“Just humor me, man. Come on.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Cas shuts the door again. He does so with some force, which tells Dean all he really needs to know about what Cas thinks of his attitude. The man climbs into Dean’s bed, lifting the covers with one hand and shooting a glare at his bedmate. He lays down begrudgingly. “What now.” His voice is clipped.

Dean takes a calming breath, shutting his eyes for another brief second. For all the times he’s imagined Cas in his bed, he’s never imagined it quite like this, with a grumpy Cas crossing his arms and scowling minutely at the ceiling. There was usually much more touching in his imagination, for one. 

But that’s obviously not what Cas is here for. “Okay. Okay, first, just try to get comfortable.”

Cas huffs out a breath, but closes his eyes. His eyelids are thin. Dean can see the tiniest of wrinkles setting in around them. 

He waits for Cas to settle. Ten seconds later, however, the other man flips onto his stomach with a grunt. Another ten seconds later, he turns on his side. And so on and so on, until Dean, watching in growing irritation with every toss and turn, finally snaps.

“Okay, stop. What’s wrong with you?”

Cas scowls, his eyes snapping to Dean’s gaze. “You asked me to get in the bed and get comfortable. I’m just doing what you asked me to do.” He turns his eyes to the ceiling and adds, more quietly, “Trying to, at least.”

Dean counts backwards from 10. “Okay,” he says, like a track on repeat. He settles back onto his pillow and speaks to the ceiling, because that’s much easier than watching Cas’s gaze grow distant again. “Okay. Is it - is it the bed or something?” He lifts a hand in the air between them and lets it hang. “Or I dunno - joint pain? You just getting old, man?”

There’s a silence from the other side of the bed, and Dean thinks that maybe Cas has actually fallen asleep - but one quick glance shows Cas’s eyes fixed on the door, focused on something Dean can’t see. Whatever it is makes him frown.

“No,” he finally says, “I experience aches sometimes in cold weather, but nothing that keeps me from sleep. I think…”

Dean waits for him to finish the sentence, but Cas continues to stare at the door. Dean reaches over, snapping Cas’s focus, and with two fingers guides his friend’s chin to turn his gaze toward Dean. “You think what?”

Cas swallows audibly, but even so, when he speaks next, his voice is hoarse. “I just think. Too much.”

Dean drops his hand. “Oh.” His annoyance ebbs with each deep breath Cas inhales and lets go of. He knows how thoughts can interrupt even the most basic of daily tasks, how reminders of demons of the literal and metaphorical kind can summon waking nightmares. He rubs a hand over his eyes, tries hard to find the right words. He opens his mouth to speak, but Cas’s soft rumble interrupts.

“It’s worse here. In your room.”

Dean turns his head to look at his friend, but Cas’s eyes are closed again. Dean follows the fine trembling of his eyelids to the frustrated press of his lips, wishes he could touch his fingers to the tension in his friend’s jaw and watch it melt away. But he fists his hands and hides them at his side. “What do you mean, it’s ‘worse’?”

There’s another moment of stillness. Cas’s nostrils flare and his lips press tighter, making them go pale from lack of circulation. He inhales sharply, then says, “If you’ll excuse me,” and makes to get up, jarring the bed.

The sudden change in mood startles Dean. He props himself up on one hand, lays the other on Cas’s arm before the other man gets too far. “Whoa, whoa, wait a minute, Cas - you asked for help, so let me help you.” He squeezes Cas’s arm, ducks his head to meet the gaze that Cas has shifted downward. “Why is it worse in this room?”

Cas’s eyes are dark when they drag up, only as far as Dean’s lips, and only for a moment before he’s turning away, a flush climbing up his neckline. 

The realization clicks almost immediately for Dean, except it’s less of a click and more of a sonic boom. It leaves him reeling in exhilaration, his throat going dry. He licks his lips as he remembers the momentary wildness in Cas’s gaze, clears his throat. “Is… is it me?”

Cas sighs. He moves away, lets Dean’s hand fall from his arm.

But Dean’s brain is stuck on a loop, replaying the moment Cas’s eyes had landed on his lips - the way his blue eyes had grown sapphire dark, how he’d then blinked and looked away, nervous, the pulse thrumming almost visibly at his throat - 

“You can’t stop thinking… about me?” Dean doesn’t recognize his voice; it’s lower and rougher, and falters on the last word.

Cas stands up, brushes out an imaginary wrinkle from his shirt. “Good night, Dean.” 

He gets as far as the door before Dean gathers the courage to ask. “What - how - how exactly do you think about me?”

He almost can’t believe he’s said it. He’s wanted to know the answer for what feels like forever, has wanted to know what Cas saw when he gazed at Dean, and why, and so when Cas gave him an in he took it, but now - now if Cas were to read between the lines, he’d see how much Dean has invested in the answer and -

He’s never felt more vulnerable in his life, shucked down to the soft flesh beneath his armor. He feels a minute tremor in his hands as he waits for Cas to answer.

The other man has a small frown on his face. He stares at his hand on the doorknob. A few moments pass. Finally, he says, with no preamble, “I think about how complex you are, mostly, and how you make me feel. I think about how you frown, and how your smile is made so much more special because of it. I think about how you talk to the Impala, how much you treasure her, and consequently… I think about how it would feel to be that loved by Dean Winchester.” His eyes are fixed on the doorknob but focused again on something far away. Dean could almost believe that Cas has forgotten that he’s is in the room.

Dean feels simultaneously absent and more present than he’s ever been in a moment. His veins are heated. He shifts the covers and waits, swallowing down his arguments.

Cas’s voice has grown smaller when he continues. “I think about how much you love Sam and how you would die for him a million times, which makes me think about how I would die for you - except, of course, that I love you in a much different way than you love Sam.” The last part he punctuates with a short-lived laugh that vanishes when he says, out of nowhere, “Now may I leave?”

Dean is still stuck on the “love” part, and so misses the question until Cas has a foot out the door. “Whoa,” he says, holding up a hand. “Whoa. Repeat that?”

“May I leave?” Cas says, slowly, squinting.

“What? No. What kind of question is that?”

“It’s a perfectly valid question, Dean. I’d like to sleep, and as I have just finished explaining, I’m unable to sleep in this room.”

Dean is at a loss. Did Cas or did Cas _not_ just admit his romantic feelings for Dean? 

“Cas,” he says, and pauses to try to wrangle in his thoughts. He’s been doing that a lot. “Cas, man. Were you even - did you even hear yourself?”

The other man tilts his head, still standing half in and half out of Dean’s doorway. “I don’t understand. What’s so strange about wanting to sleep?”

“Not - not that, you dumbass. The other stuff.”

“The ‘stuff’ about how I think about you?”

“Yeah, Cas. That _’stuff.’_ ” 

“What about it?”

Dean’s face is still warm, not the least because Cas doesn’t seem to understand the weight of his own words and it seems Dean is the only one affected by them. “Buddy,” he says, half breathlessly, “You don’t just drop that shit on a guy and then run away.”

Cas brings his other foot back into the bedroom, but otherwise makes no move to come closer. He tilts his head, confused. “I’m not running away, Dean,” he says earnestly, as if Dean needs reassurance. “I’ll be here tomorrow.”

“Yeah, but y-you don’t think we should...talk? About how you - about what you said? It’s a… it’s kind of a big deal. For me, at least.”

Cas looks down at his feet, and that’s when Dean sees it - the slightly clenched fists at Cas’s sides, and a red flush bright at the tips of his ears. It’s not that Cas doesn’t understand the weight of his own words. He was pretending not to, and trying to escape.

Dean feels a smile starting to form on his lips. He feels weightless without the armor, and joyous because apparently he doesn’t need it around Cas. “Cas,” he says, “Come on. You get it.” 

Cas’s hand grasps blindly for the doorknob. “No, Dean, I don’t,” he says, and Dean has to admit, somewhat impressed, that his poker face is almost as good as his own - except for the red sitting high on Cas’s cheeks. 

Dean grins, sits up straighter. He pats the space next to him. “Join me, Cas.”

Cas has the gall to blush and look away. “Dean, I - “

“Oh, _now_ you’re shy?” Dean interrupts, teasing. He expects an objection from Cas, but the former angel remains glued to the wall, silent. Dean, thoroughly unsatisfied with the distance between them, rises from the bed to move toward the other man. Cas’s eyes grow wide as they watch Dean’s progress.

Dean stops in front of him and carefully, slowly unwraps Cas’s hand from the doorknob. “You can’t tell me all that and then decide to chicken out afterward,” he says softly, stepping close enough to smell his own aftershave on Cas’s skin. He watches Cas’s throat bob up and down from only inches away and tamps down the urge to feel it move under his lips. 

Cas’s voice is a hesitant rumble near Dean’s ear. “I wanted you to know, but I… underestimated… the physical toll it would have on this body.”

That sounds promising. “Physical toll?” he repeats, grazing his eyes greedily over Cas’s profile, because for all of Cas’s fearless proclamations about how he thinks of Dean, the man still can’t quite look Dean in the eye. 

“Yes,” Cas confirms, eyes darting nervously to Dean’s for a millisecond, “I feel… I feel as if… as if my stomach is revolting against me.”

The words take a second to sink in. Once they do, Dean’s taking a step back. “Whoa, okay. You mean you’re going to hurl?”

Cas glares, though the effect is somewhat lessened by the slight tremble in his voice when he says, “I am nervous, Dean, and you haven’t done much to assuage those nerves besides invade my personal space.”

Aaaand Dean feels like a dick again. “Alright,” he says, licking his lips. “Alright.” He runs a hand through his hair, feeling his heart drumming in his throat. For all his bravado, he wasn’t anticipating an actual _confession of feelings._ He was all systems go for a little groping against his bedroom door, but considering the deep breaths that Cas is forcing himself to take, perhaps the groping should be postponed. 

But still. Saying the words out loud is not… how can he be expected to say things like Cas did and have them sound anywhere as meaningful? Dean is not a words kind of guy. 

So he doesn’t use his words. He takes Cas’s hand again, ignoring Cas’s slight intake of breath, and presses two of Cas’s fingers to his wrist. “Do you feel that?” he asks. 

At Cas’s confused nod, he smiles. He guides Cas’s hand up to his neck, where his heartbeat thrums like a hummingbird. “And that?”

Cas starts to smile in understanding. “Yes,” he confirms. Dean swallows, his throat suddenly tight, and watches in ill-concealed glee when the movement of his throat makes Cas step closer in fascination. 

Finally, Dean brings Cas’s hand to his cheek, where a heated flush has bloomed to greet Cas’s touch. Cas’s hands are pleasantly rough, and Dean indulges in the way it feels against his skin. “Do you get it, Cas? You’re not alone in this.” 

Cas nods emphatically, his gaze landing once more on Dean’s lips. “I get it, Dean,” he says almost breathlessly. 

“Thank fuck,” Dean breathes, and fully aware that a groping session might push Cas’s nerves over the edge, merely leans forward to press a hovering kiss at the corner of Cas’s mouth. “I thought I’d have to deliver a speech.”

Cas’s hands find their way underneath Dean’s shirt, making Dean’s eyebrows fly up. So much for pushing Cas’s nerves over the edge. “I would have liked a speech,” Cas says. 

“Maybe, uhm, maybe later,” Dean says, strangled, as Cas’s hands make their way over his stomach. His hands clench around Cas’s arms in response to the slightest of scratches Cas leaves behind in his exploration. “And uh, for the record, I - I think about you too.”

This draws a delighted smile from Cas. He withdraws his hands from their home underneath Dean’s shirt. Dean barely has a second to mourn their warmth before Cas is pulling, then pushing him into the bed. Dean sees the ceiling, then he sees Cas, who straddles him without so much as batting an eyelash. Cas leans in close to land an absolutely _filthy_ kiss on Dean’s lips, all teeth and tongue. “How exactly,” he says softly, before kissing a slow ribbon across Dean’s collarbone, “do you think about me?” 

True to form, Dean answers - _without_ words.


End file.
